Curriculum, Elevation, England & Nowhere

I was looking back through some of the older books in my Blurb "bookstore", and I was struck by several things (apart from quite how many of the things I've made). Seeing them again with fresh eyes, I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the photographs, for example, most notably those I had been producing in my exploratory lunchtime strolls around the university campus where I used to work. If nothing else, they demonstrate the creative benefits of working within tight constraints of time and place. But the most striking thing was the effort I had been putting into the design, sequencing, and intent of the books I was making then. I suppose I was still full of the energy and enthusiasm generated by the feeling that I might be on the brink of a new and fulfilling late-life career. Hey, don't laugh, it could have happened.

Of these books, Curriculum and Elevation are the stand-outs for me. It's hard to believe that they were created as long ago as 2011 and 2013, in the final few years before I retired at age 60 in 2014.

Curriculum in particular is still one of the peaks of my photographic and bookmaking efforts, and although as far as I recall no copies at all were ever sold, I did give away a few and, as always, I deposited a copy in the library of my old college [1] , so it may yet find its way to posterity. I also still remember the enjoyable investigative labour of finding and verifying some suitable quotations, which were inserted at intervals to put a little graphic-design "air" into the three visual sequences of photographs.

I think both books deserve another outing, so have decided to make them available as free Issuu flipbooks (click the central device for a full-screen view):

Just for good measure, I have also added another of these older Blurb books to Issuu: England and Nowhere, a book made in 2016, in the early years of retirement and following the boost to my energy and enthusiasm given by my second exhibition and residency in Innsbruck, Austria.

I remember sending this one out as a book "dummy" to various publishers, galleries, book competitions, and so on, only to be met by an enigmatic and unreadable silence. It was disappointing at the time, but I know now that this is simply the (unbelievably arrogant) default mode of the art and publishing world: we're just too busy, too important, and too fastidiously up ourselves even to acknowledge receipt of "unsolicited" material. So, welcome to the slush pile, Mr. Nobody, or in that venerable brush-off: don't call us, we'll call you.

I like to think a sense of that early creative buzz can still be felt in the tight editing and sequencing of these relatively old books: they are solidly crafted bits of work, well-constructed display cabinets for the photographic curiosities within. I confess I also like to think that something of it persists in the work I am producing a decade or so later, although I'm less inclined now to put quite so much effort into sequencing my photographs and digital images.

Why not? Because I have come to realise that people will always make their own personal connections and associations with visual art, no matter what hints and signposts a book's compiler has placed along the road. It no longer surprises me, for example, that someone will invariably pick an image I had intended as sequence "filler" as their favourite in the entire book. [2]

In the end, I think, you could pretty much arrange your pictures randomly, and some sort of "meaning" would emerge, perhaps even something better (and certainly something more personal to the individual reader) than anything you had intended. We are meaning-making creatures, and can't help ourselves. I'm reminded of these words from photographer Frederick Sommer:

I have five pebbles, not too different in size and weight, yet a randomness about them. If I drop them on the carpet they will scatter. Now we could run an experiment and we would find that we cannot put these pebbles in shapes that would be as elegant and as nicely related and with as great a variety as every time they fall. It is better than anything we could do. I have great respect for the way I find things. Every time something falls I look. I cannot believe the relationships. The intricacy. You hear a noise and you say “What is that?” Respect for the affirmation of the unexpected.

So, here you go, feel free to make whatever you like out of England and Nowhere. I did my best with it, but now it's over to you:

1. An institution that has endured from 1263 into the present day seems a reasonably good bet for posterity, I think. As a result of my self-interested generosity quite a collection of my stuff has been accumulating there; thirty-one books, in fact. So far, that is... I think I've still got a few more in me. Any fellow Balliol readers may enjoy page 39 of Curriculum, btw.

2. Actually, "all killer, no filler" is never a good formula for a photo-book (quite apart from the difficulty of creating 40+ images of "killer" quality). The good stuff needs to be set within and spaced out by at least the same amount of OK stuff, both to highlight it and to create a sense of rhythm. Although, as I say, most readers will ignore all that editorial effort anyway...